I’ve written this blog post multiple times in my head, but haven’t been able to get it out of my brain, through my fingers, and onto the keyboard. This is likely because of my day-to-day routine.
I write all day, everyday. I am very lucky to do this for a job. But some days, some days I just can’t push on and write for fun. Some days I feel like the words are gone and I don’t trust my fingers to give you something worth reading.
I feel like this right now. I’m not exaggerating when I write that I don’t know what will come next. You know how authors talk about their characters communicating through them and feeling their characters come alive on the page? Well, it’s the same thing for me. The words come and I don’t know where they come from – they just come.
Some days the words come easily. And other days. Well, other days I sit and stare. I reread my notes. I scroll through Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, I drink tea, I pace, I fold laundry, I take a shower, and then the words come (if I’m lucky).
So yeah, this is my excuse for not writing sooner or more often.
Life has been a bit hectic I suppose. A little over a month ago, we moved from our home of 22 years to a new-to-us house in Osgoode. It’s been a lot. A lot of boxes. A lot of planning. A lot of managing. A lot of unpacking. A lot of looking at boxes and avoiding unpacking. A lot of a lot.
But it’s been a good thing. I’m finally feeling like myself again. I truly didn’t realize how on edge and stressed out I was living in the old place. It wasn’t the house. It was the environment. It had changed drastically in the last few years and I truly could not enjoy being outside or even in our house.
And now we’re here. And it’s good. Really good. We have space. The pace is slower. There is a community again. Sure, it’s not all rainbows and unicorns. There are bumps and learning curves. But this is as it should be. If I told you it was perfect, I would be looking through very heavily tinted rose-colored glasses.
And now, now I’ve come to the point where the words have stopped flowing through my fingers. I’ve paused and stuttered. Typed and deleted. So this is where I end. Not the perfect ending but it’s the reality of writing and letting things happen. Kind of like life, I guess.